


tell me not (sweet)

by Who Shot AR (akerwis)



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Age of Sail, Broccoli Test, Conversation, Friendship, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pre-Slash, Prison, h/c, hand-holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-18
Updated: 2010-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-09 00:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akerwis/pseuds/Who%20Shot%20AR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon their return to El Ferrol, Archie and Horatio discuss the Indy--and more specifically, one of its past officers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me not (sweet)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pitseleh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pitseleh/gifts).



> Filling in a missing scene that Pel pointed out needed to be filled. This story owes much to [Better for Trying](http://community.livejournal.com/hornblower_fic/25514.html#cutid1) (which continues to be my single favourite story I've read in the fandom so far), if only for worming "To Althea, From Prison" into the front of my mind for the first time in a long time. (The title for this one is from ["To Lucasta, Going to the Warres"](http://www.bartleby.com/105/47.html) in gratitude.)

The cell was the selfsame bare stone room that they had departed, but after the short and agonizing stay aboard the _Indefatigable_ and the volley of shots that accompanied their return to El Ferrol, it seemed queerly welcoming (and, if nothing else, _quiet_). Hunter's absence served only to magnify the odd pleasance Archie felt upon reentering the room; coward though it must surely make him, he would prefer the cramped quarters of a Spanish prison to those aboard the Indy, particularly with Horatio at his side.

He hazarded a glance at his friend and, upon catching his eye, smiled. "Feels just like home."

Archie was rewarded with a smile in return, as Horatio's eyes swept across the three narrow bunks; after a moment of consideration, he chose the top bunk and hefted himself up. "So it does."

They fell to silence then, each stretching out over his pallet, consumed by stillness after the hurly-burly of the past day; it was impossible not to revel in it. Archie cared none too much for utter solitude at this point, but he found no more fondness in his breast, he had realized with some alarm that morning, for the teeming presence of men, crowded into countless shadowy nooks and crannies, aboard a ship. How curious that he felt more at liberty now, locked into a prison cell, than he had in years.

After a time, Horatio spoke once more, clearing his throat as though slightly embarrassed to say anything at all. "I should like to thank you, Archie, for speaking up aboard the Indy. I do not believe the other men would have, had you not thrown in your lot with me."

Archie looked up to find Horatio's dark eyes on him, his face bearing an expression that was equal parts abashed and grateful. "You are most welcome, Horatio." He was undecided whether to speak further; what goaded him, after a moment, was the realized absurdity that, while continuing would reveal him as dishonourable, remaining dishonourably silent about his motives would seem to mark him as a man of honour. In a lower tone, he added, "I cannot confess any great sense of duty in doing so, however. I could not bear the idea of remaining on the Indy."

This admission drew a frown to Horatio's forehead. "Whyever not?"

It was with some difficulty that Archie swallowed, searching for words delicate enough not to betray him entire, if Horatio was still left unawares of the various torments life at sea could hold for an unlucky man. His gaze dropped to his hands. "There are--_persons_ I should prefer not to meet again in my life, let alone at this very moment."

Horatio did not immediately reply; Archie looked up in time to see a spark of comprehension cross over his face. "You mean Simpson."

"I do."

Turning his head away, Horatio made to hop down from his bunk and came to sit at the edge of Archie's. "I had not thought to mention it before, but--Simpson is dead." When Archie did not reply, he gave a small sigh and continued, "There was a second duel; he attempted to stab me, but Captain Pellew shot him. I apologize for failing to tell you before this moment."

Archie closed his eyes as Horatio spoke, leaning back against the wall. It was cool to the touch; he put his mind to that fact as much as the knowledge that Jack Simpson was now a threat only to the hapless worm that might give his flesh a nibble. Whatever might lie before him now, it would not involve the singular anguish that had previously been visited upon Archie's person. The knowledge, however belated, fluttered within his chest like a frightened bird.

He felt a hand capture one of his own; Horatio named him softly, a clear note of concern in his voice. With some effort--how agreeable it was to sit there in quiet darkness, Horatio's hand clasping his--he opened his eyes and smiled at his dear friend. Unwilling to hide his satisfaction at the news but unable to thank Horatio in so many words, he merely said, "And good riddance to the bastard."

"I _quite_ agree," Horatio said, with a slight, vengeful edge to his own smile. A moment later, perhaps realizing as much, he directed his gaze away from Archie's, looking down toward his lap.

Wherever the future of one Mr Archie Kennedy lay, came the realization, he was for now contented with his present: four walls of heavy stone, a lumpy bed of wood and straw, and the promise that, should perils befall him later, he might at least face them with a most steadfast comrade. He turned his hand in Horatio's grasp, that he might return it more easily, and Horatio squeezed his hand warmly, the action of one friend in welcome to another.


End file.
